The Angel of Music
by xXTheTwilightNemesisXx
Summary: "When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me forever..."
1. The Werecat In Paris

_"You can fool everybody, but landie dearie me, you can't fool a cat."_

_Cat People (1942)_

* * *

Chapter 1: The Werecat In Paris

* * *

Rue de la Harpe, Paris, France

_19:18 pm_

The sun had just started to descend on Paris, dragging light oranges and purples from the west over the bustling city. The nightlife had just begun to flood the cobblestone street, making me quicken my pace just a little more. My plan was to meet Catrine in her studio apartment. Who knows for what this time, the free-spirited and occasionally illusive werecat makes the most curious suggestions and plans sometimes, her "little adventures" which she vexatiously strings me along for.

Something I've tried to get used to, but mostly try talking her out of.

One thing I constantly curse her for is living on this damned street. Her apartment was nice enough, and spacious enough for her art and the few 19th century paintings of hers that survived (all of which I was fortunate enough to witness her create), and our late night conversations and trouble we made has marked the living space as a beautiful memory. But its the _street_ I dont like. The unlucky reputation may have sparked an inspiration for a film about a cannibal barber, which both Catrine and I found completely laughable, but it just plain gives me the creeps. Catrine wasnt in the city at the time of the murders, but I was, and I tried avoiding the street at all costs. Not surprisingly, the reputation is what brought her to buying the apartment a few years ago -It took that much time for me to forgive her for it.

The text tone cut off my momentum abruptly, and I stopped by a small shoppe to read it.

_"Meet at the fountain" _shown from the screen.

Answering with a simple "_OK." _I headed towards the destination.I knew just what she was talking about, and it was only a short walk. Finally getting off the damned street, I walked for a few minutes more until I saw her sitting along the small pool of water with a black and lavender bag. I fluttered a few feet and sat next to her.

"So, how were the people today?" I asked, nodding at the bag. She turned to it then back to me.

"Better. Some tourists can actually be interesting. Who knew."

"Did you chase anyone down for their portraits again?" I chuckled.

"No one should complain about a perfectionist!" She said in that proud proper tone she carried when irritated. "They make the perfect craftsmen. One old hag couldn't understand that, and she nearly tore the damned canvas write through!For some old zombie she had a very strong grip."

Our laughs synced with a melodic cadence over the rushing fountain. I looked out over the monsters that stopped to appreciate the beauty of the structure behind me. Paris had a pretty big gargoyle and werecat population, so tourists can be a nice addition to the pot. I turned back to my snowy white furred friend.

"So, what made you want to meet here Catrine? I was close to your loft before I got your message."

"Sorry for that my friend.." Her voice lowered as she turned slowly to her bag and pulling out a black folder from a side pocket, seperated from the mess of paints and chalks in the others, like she had prepared something for me.

"Rochelle... How would you feel about taking another trip with me to America?" My confused eyes widened at her infestive ones. I suddenly understood where her troublesome tone was coming from.

"No no no Catrine-"

"I have done all the research _ma cherie,_ I am certain this time, I have found her."

"My dear friend, why are you still persuing this-!"

"Because I have lived many lifetimes Rochelle. And so have you. So has she! And unfortunately running from her duties is a debt time _cannot_ collect. So I will do it. You know you agree with me, little rock."

I sighed my defeat and stared at the beryl water of the fountain. I let my hand slide under the surface and back up, the water running off it like silk, leaving a dark grey stain.

"Ok, Catrine. I will go."

"We will do this. Things will finally be perfect." she smirked, as she stowed the folder away. She tried to sound enthusiastic in her tone, but I could see the caniving thoughts working through her body like clockwork. I hoped this was something she'd just give up on, but if she got to the point of obsession, there was no turning back.

"Let's go, I have some new work to hang up in my loft." She rose with a newly feuled divine purpose.

"And besides, I'm getting wet." She started forward as a sat behind.

I rolled my eyes up to Saint Michael standing in bronze over the fountain. _I hope you are right, Catrine..._

* * *

**_And here's yet another little short story that I may or may not continue. It was bothering me alot and the story was actually coming together in order so yay ^-^ _**

**_La Fontaine Saint Michel is beautiful, and I'd like to see it in person someday..._**


	2. Galatea

Chapter 2: Galatea

* * *

"How do you want to make white lilies into red roses? Kiss a white Galatea and she will blushingly laugh."

\- Friedrich Von Lagou

* * *

_Catrine's loft_

_23:32 pm_

I must have studied Catrine's new paintings for hours now, but I just couldn't turn away. The milky white cat sat at her computer, while I layed on my crossed arms on a futon looking at the new pieces of art. This one was framed in a smooth cherry wood with intricate detailing carved into it, just like a lot of her other works. The paint formed into an ivory statue of a woman. Her face seemed stoic at first, but studying it more, she seemed to be turning to her right, and looking off into the eyes of an unknown being who unsettled her. She had her hand placed nervously on her chest, covering the small white lumps of her bosom just underneath. The shadows of her muscles almost rippled to life until it reached the bottom of the canvas, where it cut off at her hip. There was an odd motion to this picture. Like a statue come to life.

I turned to my snow white friend, her tail occasionally swiveling from side to side as her finger clicked away. The loft was bright, contrasting the dark blue night outside the wide windows. The bright white also bouncing off the opaque lavender purple shades of her large curls. I guess everything about her was set to shock, with her powder blue eyes beaming against a porcelain face. A beauty mark just under her left eye. She really was a beautiful woman.

"Done!"

"Done? With what?"

"Well, almost." She reached into a black clutch and pulled out a credit card. After typing a few seconds more she turned so I could see the screen.

"Our flight is set for one week."

"A week? And just how did you afford that?"

"I have a pretty big savings account, if you remember _ma cherie._"

"You went into your savings for this?" How could I forget. Catrine's recent lavish earnings spilled from a rich grandmother she never got to meet. She was an orphan on the streets of Paris when we met almost three hundred years ago. My _grand-mere_ watched from our rooftop and always said she was nothing but a troublemaker, an unfortunate soul. Imagine her surprise when that troublemaker became my best friend.

The money didnt change her much, she was always demanding from the world, always walked with a sensual kind of royalty. But she wasnt passed doing favors for those who really needed help. I think thats what attracted me to her. If my _grand-mere_ bothered to watch her a little more closely she wouldve seen that the fruit she'd steal from the wealthy went to hungry monster children. Even normie children.

"For this, I'd sacrifice more than a lousy allowance."

She flicked her wrist as she threw the card back in the clutch purse. I sighed and watched as she walked off to the bathroom, sliding off her pink tank top and panties as she went.

"You need to relax _ma cherie_. Always so uptight, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Yeah, because I've never heard _that _before!" Her laughter echoed through the loft. Picking up her discarded clothes angrily, I succumbed to just throwing them in a heap. After years of being her unofficial maid I just learned to deal with the constant mess.

It wasnt going anywhere.

* * *

"Want some more Peeps, little rock?"

"Yes please!"

Catrine smiled and pushed a pink bowl full of the marshmallows into my hands. One part I loved about her was that she went through the trouble of getting these sent from America. When we first left to attend Monster High, Frankie Stein had pushed one into my mouth after cursing me for never trying them -and she was so right.

"I still don't know what your obsession is with eating defenseless tiny chickens."

"Because they are fluffy and delicious tiny chickens."

"Whatever."

"_...Dancing alone again, again, the rain falling_

_Only the scent of you remains to dance with me..."_

The music flowed through the bedroom in a low vibration from her iCoffin. The spherical speakers of the dock placed along the ledge of the huge factory window.

I layed out on her bed (which she understandably replaced with a much firmer mattress) and popped the yellow marshmallows in my mouth, delighting in the fact I wasnt sinking into the bed.

Catrine could laugh all she wanted, but even she got tired of my stone wings scuffing the hardwood floor when all I tried to do was take a nap.

"Oh, look at the moon Rochelle!" She leaned on one leg with her hands on her hips.

"It's not even full." I said with a very full mouth.

"No, but it's...I think, what is called a _waxing_ crescent. It means big things to come. It's beautiful..."

I finished up the bowl of sweets and straightened my pink night dress.

"_All that I need are some simple loving words..."_

The crescent was tiny, and floated just above the buildings across the street. I looked over at her. She seemed so deep in thought, her eyelashes feathered against her cheek. Slinking back in a fluffy lavender beanbag chair, she seemed to stare off into the sky.

I took the time readying the bed and fluffing my teal fleur-de-lis pillow before I finally spoke up.

"You know Catrine, I don't understand... We were all in America at the same time once. Why didnt you just settle all this then?" I may have come off as rude, but I didn't care. Catrine's rash behavior sometimes left me completely befuddled.

"She was hardly around during our time there. Can you believe that, little rock?...Can you believe it..." She wasn't really paying attention to me at all. She just trailed off with no real point.

"_On the sidewalk of the city, are my screams just a whisper? Busy people goin nowhere see me soak in the rain..."_

"We were all in the same building," she continued, "and I hardly ever saw her...Then..she just disappeared without warning. All over again."

"Well maybe that was for the best."

She just blinked slowly and walked towards the factory window. Her nervousness really began to show. Her fur started to stand up and her hand layed on her chest apprehensively. The face that looked at me was one of pure worry.

"Come on ma chatton, you have a whole life here. You have everything you could've ever wanted. The finest paints, the prettiest jewels. And you live in the greatest city in the world."

She seemed to wince at this. Grabbing her arms as if taken by a chill, she muttered something that made no sense to me.

"I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck..."

"_Like a flower in the basement, waiting for a lonely death..."_

"Well...um.. come on. Let's go to bed. Maybe you just need some rest."

She shut the music off and slid her slim body into the bed. Pulling the blanket over me, I pressed against her back and wrapped my arm around her. Her voice was finally warm again as she grabbed my hand and slithered her fingers through mine, but I had been so tired that I could barely make out her words before drifting to sleep.

"Good...goodnight Catrine..."

" Goodnight my dear Rochelle..."

* * *

"_...my dear Rochelle...'" She spat with a bitter longing. "It was not for the best...it was betrayal.." Catrine's eyes drifted slowly off to sleep and the images had flowed into a dream like a play, the same dream that had plagued her almost every night since..._

_Salle Le Peletier_

_1821_

"_Where is she?!"_

"_That blasted cat!"_

"_When I find her I will shoot her dead!"_

_The men pursued her with a vengeance, searching high and low for the 'thief' that stole expensive silver from a noble house. _

"_Those fools!" she muttered, running down a crowded street._

"_I didnt steal a thing from that spoiled house! It must be that damned Rosalie Duthe! The idiot whore! Always blaming the poor and defenseless monsters for the treachery of her over-pampered children!" Just then she spotted a broken window, the inner building seemed dark, and a perfect place to hide. She slinked through it with perfect ease, and laughed triumphantly as the men ran through the street yelling after her. _

"_Fools. Now, where the hell am I?"_

"_The Salle Le Peletier, dear."_

_The voice startled her, but she could not find a body to connect it to. Sounds continued to frighten the white cat, and she soon became very nervous and skittish. _

"_I didnt frighten you did I?"_

_Greeting the question with a short squeal of fear, she_

_scanned the area until a single light had illuminated part of the stage. The strange figure sauntered from behind a stagnant curtain. Slowly, it peered from behind, half its body covered by the curtain. _

"_And just who are you?"_

"_Do you want to know? Well...I'm definitely not worthy of having Snow White herself in my opera house."_

"_Your opera house?" She let the compliment secretly sink in, putting up a tough bravado to hide her true feelings, just as she had always done. She thanked the darkness for hiding a faint blush. _

_A look of surprise and awe became of her when the figure walked into the light. Before her stood a being she had only heard about, a creature Rochelle had always warned her to stay away from by staying off the streets at night. She laughed at the advice now, as it seemed any kind of darkness held a dangerous allure. Her skin was a faint purple, a beautiful contrast to the opposing bright red of her hair. Her eyes were a faint shade of blue, with pinks and oranges decorating her face. From her artists' point of view, this was an odd pool of color, but she was like an angel, and 'no color could look odd on an angel...'_

_The light illuminated the rose red of her hair the most, and soon after illuminated the strangest of things. A mask of gold filigree and black lace, that strangely only covered one side of her ethereal face. It was then she knew. The only one she couldve possibly been._

"_L-le Fantome.." _

"_I hope you don't mean my father. He's not nearly as scary as you think."_

"_What about you?"_

"_Oh, I couldn't hurt anyone, trust me."_

_Catrine tried twisting her look into one of disbelief, but she couldnt permit such ugliness in the face of this being. She didnt know why. _

"_Oh, and are you the 'Rose Red' I have been missing for so long?"_

_The angel smirked at the cute accusation._

"_Maybe. But, I know who you are..."_

"_D-do you?"_

_The phantom angel stepped down from the stage with an odd grace, and stood just before the light from the broken window. Right in front of Catrine. _

"_You..." Pulling a rose from what must have been out of thin air, she smelled the red flower and whispered into it a silent kiss. _

"_You are the beautiful, Galatea."_

* * *

**_So I've decided to continue with this story, since it wont stop bothering me. Ive been so distracted and obsessed with it its crazy v.v Ive fallen in a deep unhealthy love for it. Ahh well.  
_**

**_And yeah, Rochelle loves Peeps ^^ I imagined Frankie obsessing over every new candy she eats since shes not nearly as old as the others, and thinking Rochelle crazy for not eating them._**

**_QuickFacts: The waxing crescent represents new beginnings and good things, Galatea means "she who is milky white" along with the famed myth, Rosalie Duthe was a real person in the 1800's. Shes noted as the first "dumb blonde." x3 She was also known to accompany many french nobleman.  
Featured Song: "Your Rain" - Akira Yamaoka/Mary Elizabeth McGlynn_**


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